As Is What Was is a collection of poems created with no thought at all. None. There is no control over grammar, sound, rhythm, idea, or anything really. Why? I thought it would be fun. Is it insane? Absolutely.

 

Some times the old days are just that

Flaking

Greying

A little idle and senile at times

A degree racist

But that’s okay we can forgive them

After all their skin and bones and blood and spit

And other fluids

Are what cemented everything that rises around,

You,

And casts its shadows and its beams and reflections

The carvings, the sculptures, the handrails,

These..ehm…edifices

So they must be worshipped right? Preserved?

Protected with our own skin and bones and blood and spit

And semen

Nah fuck that. That’s not the way things should be

Let it rot, I say. Let it flake and grey

Or so you’d think

Funnily enough if you let it go long enough

It turns green

Unruly, overrun. Vomit entrails like you have never seen before

Life! Thy sick beauty is silly

Always the new day is just